To you and you and you who have given
Two sons for England's sake,--what word?
Oh, there is weeping heard in Heaven
And Mary's heart has the Eighth Sword.
Henceforth as you go through the town
The folk who see you go and come
Will doff their hats to your renown,
With: Salvete flores Martyrum!
O chosen from all women and men
For that high lonely destiny!
Now that we look at you, 'tis plain
God set a mark to know you by.
Your cross was growing in the tree
Before the golden world was made;
Your martyr's palms began to be
Before 'Let there be Light' was said.
And still where'er you come and go
The world's the lighter for your load.
Who thinks on common things and low
When your high sorrow takes the road?
O predestined and pre-elect
'Tis you must bear the glorious scars.
Stand up, dear Saints, white and erect,
The wounded in the heavenly wars.
Beloved, afflicted, marked for grace.
God's folk who watch you go and come,
Call, leaning from their Paradise place,

Salvete flores Martyrum!